


candle in the window

by alchemystique



Category: Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 02:46:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4162737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alchemystique/pseuds/alchemystique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’d worked with a tiger, once, just a three-week span while he was working on his degree forever ago, and he can still remember the way it had felt the first time that awful fucking cat had made eye contact with him through the bars of the cage - she’d stared straight at him, still as a statue, and it had felt a bit like he was being deconstructed and put back together in her gaze. She’d chuffed, finally, a hot breath of air across his face as one gigantic paw swiped with zero intent to hurt across the bars, and then she’d turned away from him, slinking off into a tunnel of trees, her movement fluid and graceful, while Owen stared at her retreating back and wondered if he’d ever feel so exposed ever again.</p>
<p>That’s how he feels when Dearing sweeps her gaze over a room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	candle in the window

The crew makes fun of him the first time he mentions Claire Dearing. 

And it’s not like he doesn’t expect it - he’s not exactly a love ‘em and leave ‘em kinda guy but he’s held, like, one solid relationship in his life and that went down in flames the first time he got thrown in the brig for conduct unbecoming. 

The point is, a woman like Claire Dearing isn’t exactly the type of woman Owen is used to. His navy buddies know it, and his coworkers definitely do too. 

It starts like this. He whistles, just a tinny little thing through his teeth, as she clicks away from a meeting, and there’s not really anything particularly devastating about her outfit - the pantsuit is slim and obviously high quality, but it does nothing for her ass or her tits and he’s always been a jeans-and-tee kinda guy anyway. It’s not the way she looks, not exactly. It’s something in the way her eyes flash, in the way her legs move as she walks, in the way she can hold the attention of a room full of miscreants and businessmen and scientists alike. 

He’d worked with a tiger, once, just a three-week span while he was working on his degree forever ago, and he can still remember the way it had felt the first time that awful fucking cat had made eye contact with him through the bars of the cage - she’d stared straight at him, still as a statue, and it had felt a bit like he was being deconstructed and put back together in her gaze. She’d chuffed, finally, a hot breath of air across his face as one gigantic paw swiped with zero intent to hurt across the bars, and then she’d turned away from him, slinking off into a tunnel of trees, her movement fluid and graceful, while Owen stared at her retreating back and wondered if he’d ever feel so exposed ever again.

That’s how he feels when Dearing sweeps her gaze over a room.

It helps that she’s attractive. Dear god does it help. But his spark of interest avalanches into a curiosity about the woman that he doesn’t even realize anyone else has noticed until they’re drinking beers behind his trailer, watching the sun set over Isla Nublar, and he makes some offhand comment about inviting her out to join them next time they all have a night off.

“Oh, man, you got it  _bad_ , Grady,” Jenny says, laughing as she takes a swig. 

“I will admit to wondering exactly what she’s packing under those sensible pantsuits, but do you honestly think you could hold a conversation with that woman? She’s like an automaton.”

He doesn’t quite manage to hide the irritated twitch of his lips as they goad him, and this just sends Jenny  _off_  - she thinks its the best thing she’s ever heard, can’t imagine him actually  _liking_  Dearing, let alone harboring a stupid schoolboy crush. It’s not that, though. He doesn’t know Claire, all that well. Just what he’s seen. What he’s gleaned from what other people tell him about her. 

The few words they’ve spoken have been sparse and few and far between, usually little more than “Have those reports to us by Monday,” or something even more innocuous. 

They call her “Corporate Bitch” behind her back, and they’re not kids on the playground and she definitely doesn’t give a shit what they say about her but he gets defensive every time anyway. “You do realize she’s practically the only thing standing between thousands of people a week and complete and utter devastation via dinosaur rampage, right? I’d be an asshole all the time too, if I had to deal with you lazy asses.”

It’s almost a year before he has a full conversation with her - she pulls him aside after a meeting and he ignores Barry’s wiggling eyebrows as he points at the perfectly manicured fingernails curled around Owen’s arm. 

“Mr. Grady, Mr. Masrati tells me he’s finally found a way to put your particular skills to use.”

“Great, I was wondering when my ability to drink an entire bottle of tequila and not vomit was going to come in handy.”

She goes for a disapproving look, but he catches the way her mouth quirks just before she bites down on her bottom lip. 

“Mr. Grady -.”

“Owen,” he supplies, and she eyes him like she’s trying to think of the best way to stop his shit-eating grin, but he can tell she’s amused by him, and he sways on the balls of his feet as he tucks his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. 

“Mr. Grady.” 

“Fine, we’ll work on names later.”

She shuffles, and it’s probably the first time he’s ever seen her show even a single sign of discomfort in the entire year she’s been here. She’s still smiling though. Pretending not to, but smiling all the same. 

“The lab is working to create a clutch of velociraptors.”

“That...sounds like a horrible idea. We’re talking the sickle-clawed hellbeasts that destroyed the park the first time around, right?”

“Mr. Masrani has read your reports, and he’s seen you in the field, and he’d like you to train the clutch when they hatch.”

“Go out with me and I’ll consider it.”

The only indication she’s heard him is the slight widening of her eyes. 

Owen is impressed. He’d figured she’d at least falter a bit. But she’s not done surprising him. 

“Meet with Dr. Wu and I’ll consider your very gracious request.”

“Fine. But don’t expect me to say yes just because they offer me a huge raise.”

“As long as you don’t expect me to say yes just because you like me more than the rest of the staff here.”

He bites his lip on a grin. “Who said I liked you?”

“I run this entire park, Mr. Grady, and I speak personally with nearly every member of the staff.” In a completely out of character move, she casts her eyes down for a moment, brushes a lock of hair behind her ear. “People do love to gossip.”

She’s getting uncomfortable, which is a thing he’d like to see more of, if he’s being totally honest, but he’s just as good at reading people as he is animals, and it’s not the time. “I’ll stop by the lab tomorrow.”

There’s an appreciative glint in her eyes as she holds his gaze. “Enjoy your day, Mr. Grady.”

“I’d enjoy it a whole lot more if you gave me a yes or no answer.”

“Do you enjoy teasing everyone, or is this a particular skill set you’ve decided to test on me?”

He grins. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

\------

He says yes, like a fucking idiot, and six months later he’s got four raptors following him around, biting at his ankles. And he’s pretty much convinced by now he’s just itching for impossibly challenge after impossible challenge. 

The current challenge is the woman watching him pace in front of the lab doors while doctors do tests on Blue. 

“I heard there was an incident.”

“Yeah, if you can call ‘hiring handlers who don’t have a fucking clue how to do their jobs’ an incident.”

Her shoulders roll back like she’s preparing for a fight, and for a moment all he can think of is that tiger again. 

“It will be fine.”

“ _She_  better be.” He’s irritated already, and her insistence on ignoring the fact that these dinosaurs are living and breathing is a point of contention in their sort-of friendship. “If that kids face ends up recovering before her leg does, I can guarantee you’re not gonna like me.”

“He’s been taken care of. He won’t be returning. I’m here to talk about  _you_.”

“You here to fire me for hitting a dumb sack of -.”

“I’m here to express my apologies, if you’ll get off your soapbox for a moment.”

He pauses, rolling his fingers along his palm. There’s broken skin over one knuckle, and he can’t quite clench his hand into a fist without bleeding all over the floor. “I’m listening.”

“I’m giving you final say in all the handlers we hire for the raptor pen from now on. It’s become apparent to me that our current system hasn’t taken into account the specific needs of these assets, and you are by far the best qualified to make the final judgement.”

“That was almost a compliment, Claire.”

“Ms. Dearing.”

“First time you call me Owen I’ll call you Ms. Dearing.”

“Then I suppose we’re at an impasse.” He’s still pissed, and he kinda still wants to punch something, but there’s something about going toe to toe with her that centers him, calms him, almost. He kinda hates it. 

“If you went out on a date with me like you promised we could definitely get over this name thing.”

He likes to bring it up sometimes - Claire is a professional through and through, and he’s pretty sure the only man he’s ever seen her spend more than ten minutes alone with is Masrati himself. He likes to bring it up anyway, just to give her some shit, because everyone else around her either treats her like some delicate little flower or like she’s straight up evil. He’s spent enough time watching her to know she’s miles away from either of those things. 

“You should have drawn up a contract, Mr. Grady. I recall none of this.”

“Get the hell outta here before I actually start to think you know how to tell a joke.”

“Perish the thought.”

She gives him a quick, minuscule little smile as she turns on her heel to leave, and he watches her go, admiring her from behind.

\------

“I’m guessing this would be a bad time to remind you of the date you still owe me.”

Her eyes blow wide as she turns to stare at him, and he cows a bit under the look. It’s been a while since he’s seen that look - the one she uses to scare the everliving shit out of the prepubescent idiots the park hires out for the summer to man the attractions. 

She’s looking a little flustered, and he’s kinda annoyed that it’s not his fault, this time.

“Yes, please, let’s pull out this old joke. In fact, lets ask my ex-fiance to come back so you two can have a laugh at my expense together.”

She purses her lips, brushing hair angrily behind her ear, and Owen bites back a frown. “Dude’s a douche. And I’m almost never joking when I ask you out.”

“Almost never?”

“Well there was that time in the boardroom when I thought you were gonna glare a hole right through one of the investors heads. That was just to break the ice.”

Despite herself, she smiles, blowing out an amused breath. 

“Seriously, though. Forget about that asshole. Who wears a suit to a theme park anyway?”

“Investors. Board members. Potential vendors. Me.”

“Rhetorical. God, that was so rhetorical, why would you -.” He shakes his head when she grins back at him. “Fuck off. I’m actually starting to believe you have a sense of humor.”

“I’m an automaton, Mr. Grady. We don’t have time for such amusements.”

\------

He’s got the night off, and going out with Barry had seemed like a great idea at the time, but now he’s had twelve shots of tequila and he’s just managed to get the girls to move in formation and he’s fucking celebrating. 

So when he sees Claire slide onto a stool off in the corner with her new assistant, he doesn’t think about what an idiot he could make of himself.

He drags a third stool from the table next to theirs and plops right down on it, pressing his elbows into laminate as he grins at the two of them. “Evening, ladies.”

Zara nods politely, but Claire just stares at him. “I hope you don’t think this counts as a date, Mr. Grady.”

“What, interrupting girls night? Please. I’d rock your damn socks off, if you ever took that stick out of your ass and admitted you liked me.”

“You have such a colorful way with words.”

“Well you have - colorful hair.”

“And you are drunk.”

“Guilty as charged. What’ya say? Wanna do body shots?”

She eyes him carefully, incredibly not charmed, her lips pursed as she stares at him. “Will you go away if I agree to dinner?”

He nearly swallows his tongue. It’s been - jesus, something like three years since he’d first asked her out, and at this point it’s pretty much just an in joke between them, but she’s being completely serious. 

“You better put that shit in writing, Ms. Dearing.”

She yanks a pen out of her purse (because of course she has a pen in her purse, why wouldn’t she?), scrawls something in tight, neat print on the napkin in front of her, and slides it across to him. 

_I, Claire Dearing, declare this document official and binding, and will agree to one date on the evening of June 19th at 6 PM._

He laughs, a full hearty bellow that makes a few heads turn at the the table over, and slides it back. “Sign it. You’re not getting out of this one.”

Her signature is all curving, elegant lines, and when he leaves the table ten minutes later the napkin in his pocket feels like the greatest triumph of his life.

\------

He opens the door to the bungalow the next day still rubbing his eyes, cursing the evils of tequila and the inevitability of hangovers, to find Claire standing on his doorstep, eyeing his board shorts in disdain, a dossier under one arm, and he blinks the haze away as she crosses her arms. 

Damn it.


End file.
